The Celtic Dagger

THE CELTIC DAGGER

A Fitzjohn Mystery

JILL PATERSON

The Celtic Dagger

Copyright © 2012 Jill Paterson

Cover design:  Renee Barratt
http://www.thecovercounts.com

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9873955-0-4

Publisher:  J. Henderson, Canberra, Australia

Publication Date: October 2012

Second Edition: October 2012

For Emily Jane Paterson in her 99th year.

The Celtic Dagger

A Fitzjohn Mystery

Featuring Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, The Celtic Dagger, is the first book in the Fitzjohn Mystery Series.

University professor Alex Wearing is found murdered in his study by the Post Graduate Co-coordinator, Vera Trenbath, a nosey interfering busybody. Assigned to the case is Detective Chief Inspector Alistair Fitzjohn. Fitzjohn is a detective from the old guard, whose methodical, painstaking methods are viewed by some as archaic. His relentless pursuit for the killer zeros in on Alex’s brother, James, as a key suspect in his investigation.

Compelled to clear himself of suspicion, James starts his own investigation and finds himself immersed in a web of intrigue, ultimately uncovering long hidden secrets about his brother’s life that could easily be the very reasons he was murdered.

This gripping tale of murder and suspense winds its way through the university’s hallowed halls to emerge into the beautiful, yet unpredictable, Blue Mountain region where more challenges and obstacles await James in his quest to clear himself of suspicion and uncover the truth about his brother.

Dear Prospective Reader,

Please note that The Celtic Dagger was written as a stand-alone story. It was not until after the book was published that I decided to write a series featuring Detective Chief Inspector Alistair Fitzjohn.  Consequently, Fitzjohn does not play a leading role in The Celtic Dagger.

PROLOGUE

Alex looked beyond the light thrown by the lamp on his desk, to the window and darkness outside.  He crossed the room to pull the blinds against the penetrating cold but stopped to look at his reflection in the glass.

His life, to many, would look ideal.  A successful career spanning three decades, world interest in more than one of his archaeological excavations and acclaim and acknowledgment by his peers.  This evening had recognised all this, at a dinner given in his honour.

Alex had listened to the accolades of his peers and then responded, his charismatic personality capturing and inspiring those around him.  Only toward the end of the evening, when the note arrived at his table, did he falter, his gratification marred.  His brow broke out in a sweat as he read it and realised he could no longer hide the truth.

Weary, Alex turned from the window, the stillness and quiet of the building magnified in the early hours of the morning.  He looked around the familiar room, meticulous in its order, its walls lined with books that lent warmth to the atmosphere and a smell of age.  He knew his years of deception were over when the door opened and a figure entered.

‘I’ve been expecting you,’ Alex said.  A chill went through him as he looked into the expressionless eyes.  ‘I need to explain.’  Alex turned to his desk, and in the moment that followed, felt a blow to his back.  He faltered and slumped to his knees before pain seared through him.  He grabbed for his chair and tried to stand.  He did not feel the second blow to his neck.  The chair slid away and he fell to the floor.

CHAPTER 1

Fitzjohn knocked then opened Superintendent Grieg’s door.  ‘I understand you want to see me, sir.’  Grieg looked up from his work.  ‘Ah, yes, Alistair.  Come in.’

Fitzjohn closed the door behind him as Grieg gestured for him to sit down.

‘I understand you’re going on leave.’

‘Yes, sir.  Just getting my things together now, as a matter of fact.’  The mere fact that Grieg had called him by name alerted Fitzjohn, aware as he was of Grieg’s dislike for him.

Grieg sat forward in his chair.  ‘Well then, I doubt you’re going to like what I’m about to ask.’

‘Oh?  Why’s that, sir?’

‘There’s been a suspicious death reported in one of the schools at the University of Sydney.  School of Philosophical and Historical Inquiry, I believe.  Our resources are already stretched to the limit.  I’m afraid I have to ask you to delay your leave.’

Fitzjohn adjusted his wire-framed glasses.  ‘I’m not sure I can at this stage, sir.  As you can appreciate, I’ve made certain commitments that would be difficult to change.’

‘Well, be that as it may, the fact remains our staffing levels are low and at a time like this, we need everyone on board.’

‘And I’d like to oblige but as I said, I don’t see how I can.’  Mindful of Grieg’s coercive nature and inability to consider anyone but himself, Fitzjohn hesitated before adding.  ‘After all, there are other people involved in my arrangements.’

‘I see.’  Grieg fidgeted with his pen.  ‘Well, ordinarily I wouldn’t ask.  In fact, as far as I’m concerned, I’m sure we could cope without you, but the truth of the matter is the Chief Superintendent has requested you head the investigation.’

Glaring at Fitzjohn, Grieg threw his pen onto his desk.  'You needn't look so smug.'  They both turned as the office door opened and Chief Superintendent Fellowes walked into the room.  Both men got to their feet.

‘Ah, Fitzjohn.  Sergeant Betts said I might find you here.  I take it Superintendent Grieg has filled you in on the situation?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good.  I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you foregoing your leave for now.  I know the past year has been a difficult one and I wouldn’t ask, but with the victim being rather a prominent figure in our community, not to mention the press interest this’ll generate, I believe we need your experience and expertise.  I wanted to thank you personally.  I’ll leave you both to go over the details.’

A hint of a smile come to Fitzjohn’s face as the Chief Superintendent left the room.  'I take it you're staying,' said Grieg, sitting down again.

‘I don’t see how I could refuse such a request.’

Fitzjohn returned to his office a happy man.  Since his wife Edith’s death almost a year earlier, he had filled the vacuum with work, and the prospect of a week away from this refuge had filled him with unease.  He found Sergeant Betts waiting for him in his office.

A tall, slim man in his early thirties with thick ginger hair, he scrambled to his feet as Fitzjohn entered the room.  ‘Ready to go, sir?’

‘No, Betts, I’m afraid not.  There’s been a change of plan.  The Chief Superintendent has asked me to delay my leave and take charge of an investigation.’  Fitzjohn recounted his conversation with Grieg.

‘That’s bad luck, sir, especially when you’ve made plans.’

‘Yes, it is, although I must admit, I did have my reservations about spending a whole week with my sister.  She’s... How should I put this?  Strong-willed?’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘I’ll give her a ring later and break the news.’  A smile crossed Betts’s face as Fitzjohn took his overcoat from the hook behind the door and pulled it on.  ‘We’d better go.  I’ll fill you in on the way.’

The press were already gathered when Fitzjohn and Betts arrived at the Brennan MacCallum Building, housing the archaeological arm of the School of Philosophical and Historical Inquiry.  Met by a young, fresh faced constable, Fitzjohn bent his rotund shape and passed under the police tape that delineated the crime area.  He looked back at the crowd.  ‘Make sure no one unauthorised comes through this barrier, Constable.’  Another police officer stood in front of the sliding glass doors.

'Good afternoon, sir,' the officer said, 'If you’ll follow me.'  Fitzjohn and Betts fell into step beside him as they made their way through the building.  'The victim was found at approximately 2pm, sir,' the officer went on, 'by Dr Vera Trenbath, a member of staff.  I arrived at 2:30.  No weapon’s been found.'

They entered a large room where wood panelled walls and bookcases crammed with volumes of leather-bound text generated a sense of warmth to counter the still, cold atmosphere.  The sun, filtered by clouds, cast a hint of light across the floor, missing the body of a man on the floor beside the desk.  Those in the room went about their tasks, for the most part, in silence.  Thirty years of such scenes, and Fitzjohn still hesitated before making his way over to the body.  He turned to the constable.  ‘Let Dr Trenbath know I’ll want to speak to her shortly.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Fitzjohn walked over to where the pathologist, Charles Conroy stood talking to one of the photographers.  Conroy looked around.

‘Alistair, I thought you were on holiday.’

‘Change of plan at the last minute.’

‘This, I take it.’  They both looked down at the body sprawled on the floor in front of them.

‘Yes.’  Fitzjohn knelt down.  Conroy, a tall, thin man in his mid-fifties joined him.  ‘What do we have?’

‘Male, early fifties with two stab wounds.  One here to the back.’  Conroy pointed to the bloodstain on the shirt.  ‘I doubt that’s what killed him, though.  I think it was this one at the base of the neck.’  Fitzjohn leaned down for a closer look.  ‘As you can see, there’s no bruising, just a clean wound, I’d say from a sharp, double-edged blade.  We’ll know more at the post mortem.’

‘What time do you think he died?’

‘Early hours of this morning.  Somewhere between two and five.  There again, I can’t be exact at this stage.’

‘So, he’s lain here most of the day.’

‘Looks that way.’  Fitzjohn shook his head as they stood up, Conroy towering over him.

Fitzjohn turned when Betts appeared at his side.  ‘I’ve spoken to Vera Trenbath, sir.  There’s a seminar room on this floor we can use as an incident room.  She’s also given me the address of Catherine Wearing, the victim’s wife.’

‘Very well.  I’ll just have a word with Dr Trenbath.  Then we’ll go and see Mrs Wearing.’  Fitzjohn turned back to Conroy.  ‘See you at the post mortem, Charles.’

Vera Trenbath stood at the window of the long narrow room that served as her office, its walls adorned with pictures and postcards.  She turned when she heard the knock on the door.

‘Dr Trenbath, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn.  May I have a word?’

A woman of medium height in her early fifties, her Roman-shaped nose accentuated small hazel eyes that looked out from beneath a fringe of short brown hair.  She crossed the room and stood with her hands on the back of her chair.  ‘Yes, Chief Inspector.  The Constable said to expect you.  Please, come in.’

Vera sat down while Fitzjohn settled himself on the chair beside the desk.

‘I just have a few questions at this stage, Dr Trenbath.  We’ll do a formal interview later.’  Vera nodded.

‘I understand you’re the person who found Alexander Wearing,’ Fitzjohn said gently.

‘Yes, about an hour and a half ago.’  Vera sat rigid, staring at Fitzjohn.  ‘I…’  She pulled a tissue from the box on her desk and dabbed her nose.

‘I know this is distressing, Doctor, but can you tell me when you last saw Alexander Wearing alive?’

‘Yesterday evening just before I left for the day.  At about six.’

‘I see.  You had no reason to seek him out this morning?’

‘I wasn’t here.  I took the morning off.  I had a dental appointment.  I got here at about one o’clock this afternoon.  At two, I went to see Professor Wearing about some postgraduate matters.’

‘His office door was closed?’

‘Yes.  He keeps it closed even when he’s in.  I knocked and went in.  That’s when I saw him lying there.’  Vera pulled another tissue from the box.  ‘I called to him but he didn’t move, so I walked over.  I thought he must have passed out, but then I saw the blood on the carpet.  I touched his cheek.  It felt cold.  I panicked then and ran back here to call the police.’

Fitzjohn paused before he went on.  ‘I understand you’re a member of the teaching staff, Doctor Trenbath.'

Vera continued through tears.  ‘Yes.  I’ve been here ten years next month.’

‘So, I take it you knew Alexander Wearing fairly well?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well-liked, was he?’

Vera hesitated for a moment.  ‘Generally, I believe he was, although there were some who complained.  I imagine they found him too dogmatic.’

‘And who were these people?’

Fitzjohn watched as Vera fidgeted with the ring on her right hand.  ‘I don’t like to say, Chief Inspector.  After all, it’s just my own perception.  I may not be right.’

‘Nevertheless, Dr Trenbath, we need to know of any problems that exist in the department, no matter how minor.’

Vera looked at Fitzjohn.  ‘Well, since you put it like that.  There are two academics that come to mind.  People I’ve seen argue openly with Professor Wearing from time to time.  Dr Harrow is one.  He’s been a continual irritant to Professor Wearing in all the years I’ve been here.  Opposed decisions he made on a regular basis.  I think he did it simply for the sake of causing problems.  Like most of us, I’m sure Professor Wearing got past the point of tolerance.  Then there’s Professor Wearing’s brother, Dr James Wearing.  A nice young man, but he never got along with his brother.  I have no idea why.  Neither of them ever spoke of their differences to me.’

At that moment, Sergeant Betts appeared in the doorway.

‘Just one last question, Dr Trenbath,' said Fitzjohn. 'Can you tell me where you were between midnight and eight this morning?’

A look of indignation came over Vera Trenbath’s face.  ‘You’re not suggesting…’

‘Alas, Doctor, it’s a question I must ask.’

‘I was at home.  Where else would I be?’

‘Anyone with you?’

‘I live alone, Chief Inspector.’